


My Holding Is Still Strong

by dls



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: Once, Geralt had watched Jaskier, deep in a healing sleep, and regretted his own harsh words.Now, with only silence for company as he trudged down King Niedamir's mountains, Geralt realized he hadn't truly known regret because the only thing worse than Jaskier's silent and still form was the absence of it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 130
Kudos: 2558
Collections: Best Geralt, Geralt is Sorry





	My Holding Is Still Strong

**Author's Note:**

> My husband, a fan of the games, convinced me to watch the Witcher with him. Now I have a new fandom and decided to dip my toes in by jumping on the bandwagon of fixing what happened at the end of Rare Species. 
> 
> Many thanks to [LadyVader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVader) for giving it a quick glance. 
> 
> References/Quotes:   
> Title from "I Done You So Wrong" by The Paper Kites.  
>  _The Witcher_ (S01E06).  
> 

At first, Geralt hadn't noticed anything amiss, too caught up in the overwhelming relief that Jaskier had agreed to join him on the road once more after their...less than pleasant parting three moons ago. 

Those ninety-two days of silence had felt more suffocating than refreshing. As if a hand had closed around his throat, choking him with bitter regret that tinged his every sense until all he could focus on was what wasn't there rather than what was. A dangerous position for a Witcher, a profession that required him to focus on the present. He had wondered if he were cursed though his medallion hadn’t detected any traces of magic and neither had the two healers he sought out in desperation to cure the ache in his chest and the chill in his bones. He had resigned himself to endure this harsh winter with no end in sight... 

...until he heard Jaskier’s voice, floating on the air like the bird songs of spring.

Geralt had found him performing a new melody, slower and softer and sadder than the others, at a generic inn made memorable only by Jaskier’s quick smile and easy acceptance of Geralt’s poorly-worded invitation - _you need new material_ \- to travel together.

Foolishly, he had thought everything was back to the way it had been.

Before the royal ball at Cintra.

Before the mayor's house in Rinde.

Before the dragon hunt in King Niedamir’s mountains.

A simpler, _happier_ , time when it had just been the two of them on the open road and under the wide skies.

It had taken him two days before he realized that Jaskier wasn’t so much speaking _with Geralt_ as talking _to himself_. The Bard's constant chatter was a steady stream of commentaries about the trees, the clouds, the breeze, everything and anything seemingly without need for breath and definitely without Geralt’s participation.

Gone were the ceaseless questions about past hunts and old scars. Gone were the exaggerated scoffs demanding attention and interest. Gone were the little annoyances that hadn't been annoyances at all. 

The realization hit Geralt like a blow to the head, leaving him dizzy and nearly falling off of Roach.

Jaskier frowned, stated they should make camp soon, and made further no inquiries.

Geralt wondered if he had wanted to, judging by how he was chewing on his bottom lip. Or perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. Gods, how he would love to have a Djinn at his disposal again. To turn back time, to take away hurtful words, to repair what he had broken and knew not how to repair. A losing battle. If he were a smarter man, or a less stubborn one, he would accept this defeat and part ways with Jaskier, whose songs would outlive him. 

_The crow's feet are new._

While Yennefer's jibe had stung Jaskier's vanity, it was to Geralt that the insult did the most damage. The careless reminder of Jaskier's mortality had infected him with a strange grief that he hadn't known how to deal with, so he had turned to a more familiar emotion.

Anger.

At the fleeting seconds of Jaskier's mortal lifespan. At the fragility of humans, pathetically susceptible to illness and injuries. At destiny's cruel design to warm Geralt's cold heart with sunshine but with clouds encroaching on the horizon. At all the things outside of his control, making mockeries of his enhanced abilities. At Jaskier, whose obliviousness to the gravity of Geralt's struggles grated like salt in a bleeding wound. 

_Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?_

It was only in the stifling silence of the aftermath did Geralt see what he had done and the foolishness of his flawed logic. A mistake that he would do everything to right, had he any inkling as to how. 

Perhaps...this new line Jaskier had drawn between them could be an opportunity, a chance for Geralt to show his contrition and make his amends. Strength and steel had lined the perimeter of his comfort zone but Jaskier was made of poetry and melody, unknown territories that Geralt dread to enter but would brave to close the distance he had put between himself and this kind, infuriating, lovable man who saw beauty where others saw a butcher. Geralt wasn't delusional enough to think that he could rhyme or play worth a shit but words would be a good start. 

Jaskier, he decided, was worth the effort. Deserved it, really.

*

When Jaskier told a story from his days in court, Geralt scoffed at the frivolity of nobility and remarked that he had seen worse.

Jaskier tripped and nearly landed under Roach’s hooves. "What-" He cleared his throat, catching himself in time. "What a thing to say."

"Would you like to hear it?" Geralt took a deep breath and held it in anticipation. 

"I suppose it'll be good to rest my voice a bit before we arrive in town." 

Geralt exhaled slowly, the tightness beneath his ribs easing, and began. 

*

When Jaskier grumbled about his ruined tunic - no one would glance at the wine stain with how the color brought out the blue of his eyes - Geralt grunted that it looked fine but then mentioned he knew of a concoction that could repair the garment if Jaskier was truly bothered by it.

Jaskier nodded his thanks with a small curve of his lips.

Geralt made a mental list of the herbs he would require.

Later, Jaskier made a small, curious noise as he watched Geralt cut up the leaves.

Which Geralt took as cue to name each plant and explain their roles in the potion, nearly slicing a chunk off of his finger because he couldn't look away from the brilliance of Jaskier's smile. 

*

When Jaskier tested new chords on his lute, Geralt asked when he had learned to play the instrument.

Jaskier's eyed widened with surprise before he closed them with a sigh and shrugged. "It's a boring story." 

"I'd like to know." Geralt said, the words coming easier than he expected. Truth was funny that way. "It- It's occurred to me that I don't know you, um, very well. And- And I'd like to. Please."

"Oh." Jaskier chewed on the inside of his cheek, his lips pursed in an unflattering imitation of a kiss that Geralt still somehow found tempting. "If you insist." 

"I do."

The Bard recounted his first lesson with a fond look in his eyes that Geralt wanted to keep, wanted to see more of, wanted it directed at him. 

*

When they accepted a contract to remove a nest of vampires, Jaskier lingered on the edge of town, shuffling his feet. 

"You coming?" Geralt huffed impatiently; he was willing to make changes for Jaskier but he was still the same curmudgeonly bastard. For the most part. 

"Yeah, I was just-" Jaskier clutched his lute to his chest like it was a shield, like he was readying himself for an attack. "I was just wondering if we really are dealing with vampires since they attacked during the day?" 

It wasn't phrased like a question but the rising intonation at the end was enough to spark a ray of hope. With a lightness in his step that contradicted the dark topic of blood-drinkers, Geralt clarified the myths regarding vampires. 

*

And so it went.

They traveled the continent, saving towns from monsters and rescuing monsters from men.

With every conversation, questions asked and interests made known in lieu of an apology that could never suffice in conveying his shame and remorse, Geralt rebuilt the bridge he had burned. He couldn't go back but he would find a new way forward. A better way. 

*

“May I kiss you?” Geralt whispered, palms cupping Jaskier's cheeks and fingers brushing over the small lines at the corners of Jaskier's eyes. 

They found themselves at yet another generic inn made memorable, this time, by their proximity to each other. 

"What took you so long?" 

Despite his strong suspicion that it was likely rhetorical, Geralt still answered. He always would when it was Jaskier. "I was a coward and a fool."

A myriad of emotions flashed through Jaskier's eyes, too quickly to catch and identify, before fondness settled. "That was rhetorical."

"I know." Geralt said before catching Jaskier's lips in a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
